Early one morning several years ago, speed-reading through the e-mail that had accumulated overnight, I found a long letter that appeared to be from a friend. It started like a continued conversation among people who knew each other well enough to totally dispense with formalities: "Here's a story." Though I hadn't been aware that any of my buddies had been planning a cross-country drive, I figured I must have just forgotten because the first few paragraphs were full of the kind of intimate trip tidbits you don't get from Fodor's: days cruising non-Interstate "blue highways" in a homemade custom convertible (an old Cadillac with the top sawed off); nights inhaling cocktails; food; sex; other adventures. Maybe it was my morning blur, but it wasn't until somewhere on the second page, when my good buddy seemed to have turned into the head chef at what used to be one of my favorite Key West restaurants, that I woke up and skipped to the signature -- because I have no Key West chef buddies. To guard my restaurant-reviewer anonymity, I try to avoid even being... More >>>